Outbreak: Granderson
by I-Am-Canadian92
Summary: Sometimes things never change. Enrique Ramon might just figure that out when he returns to a city long forgotten and finds it overrun with zombies. However, that isn't even the least of his worries...Summary sucks, contains OCs. Don't like, don't read.


**Ah, there you are. This is my first fanfic submitted on this site, a slight warning that this DOES have heavy OC presence, the entire store is based around my OCs. Sorry. So now for a disclaimer. I do not own Resident Evil or any of its characters. I do however, have sole ownership over MY story and MY characters, and can put them through whatever hell I please for my own amusement. Thank you, now on to the story.**

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**Resident Evil**

**Outbreak: Granderson**

**Prologue**

**The early morning sun shone through the semi-closed blinds of a small messy apartment. It was an absolute pigsty, but that was exactly what he'd been looking for, something small and under the watchful eye of Umbrella. Things hadn't been the same since that day back in 1998, back in the Arklay Mountains. He wondered if things would ever stay the same, or if things would just keep on getting worse.**

**Enrique Ramon slowly rolled out of his bed, if you could call it that, and looked through the blinds. All he could see was dirt. No grass anywhere, just dirt, mind you, he was in the middle of the desert. He wondered why exactly he had decided to travel through Nevada, all he knew for sure was, at his next chance, he'd get to the nearest airport and take a plane the rest of the way to Venezuela, his home. He shook his head slowly and scratched his toned abdomen. It wasn't fun living in filth, but this wasn't even a town, it was a damn motel in the middle of the desert, the kind you'd see in those horror movies he'd never cared to watch.**

**He went to his small suitcase and pulled out some clean clothes. He dressed before heading to the mirror and looking at his reflection. Hadn't shaved in a few weeks, and it showed, he wasn't overly repulsed though, it was only scruff. He'd showered the day before, and he was more worried about getting home than going a day without rinsing himself off, so he just gave his hair a quick brush and began to pack his things. When his hand rested on his Desert Eagle, images of Spencer Estate rushed back to him. Joseph, Forest, he never really liked any of them but they were his team-mates. He hadn't gotten along well with anyone back when he was in S.T.A.R.S, Chris and Joseph would share snide comments about him behind his back, but he didn't care. However, after going through hell like the Spencer Estate, even with people you don't like, tends to make you closer to those people, even if you don't want to be.**

**As if the images weren't bad enough, he just had to recall the anger on the others' faces when Enrique had told the other surviving members of S.T.A.R.S that he wouldn't help them on their run to destroy Umbrella, and that he'd do thing his own way. It had been a foolish decision, and one he would probably end up regretting sooner or later. He tried to shake the memories from his head. He could think about that when he was safe at home. He zipped his suitcase closed and headed to the front desk to check out. He was confronted once more with the manager who had an unbearably big smile. It was too big for his face, and made him look like he was hiding something.**

"**Leavin' sir? I hope you enjoyed your stay." The manager said. Enrique grimaced and nodded. Yeah, he had. He thoroughly enjoyed his stay in his small, stuffy, cockroach-ridden apartment. **

"**Yeah…thanks." Enrique replied before paying and leaving as quickly as possible. He stepped out into the blazing heat of the desert and sighed. It'd just be more of this at home. However, he wouldn't need to worry about zombies or monsters or annoying partners. It'd just be him, his home, and the ladies of Venezuela. He'd be happy, and it was about damn time too. He had earned his happiness, at least he thought he did.**

**He carried his suitcase over to the junky car that must have been from the late 70's. He had bought it for about $500, so it wasn't anything special, but it still moved, so he didn't need a replacement yet. He opened the trunk and stuffed the suitcase inside, briefly looking over the other objects in the trunk. A crowbar, improvised plastic explosive, just in case the need arose of course, and a blanket, in case he needed to sleep in his car. He shook his head, wondering at the kind of stuff he would have in the trunk if he had never been a part of Wesker's diabolical plot. Maybe a case of whisky, some magazines, the blanket would probably still be there. He shrugged and closed the trunk before his cell phone rang. He looked at the number and answered.**

"**This is Enrique." He stated simply. A sarcastic voice sounded from the phone, it belonged to his only friend from Raccoon City.**

"**Oh wonderful, for a second I thought a zombie might have kidnapped you and left a polite person in your place."**

"**Real funny Lars, why are you callin' me?" Enrique heard the shuffling of paper and a small cough in the background. Lars quickly said something directed away from the phone to somebody else before speaking back to Enrique.**

"**There's been an outbreak near you. All flights over or into the biohazard zone have been cancelled and the main highways have been shut down. I hate to say it, but your stuck in the States my friend." Enrique cursed and shook his head. This wasn't happening. Not again.**

"**You HAVE to be kidding me Lars! Where's the fuckin' outbreak? I'm in Nevada and I haven't even heard about it!" He practically yelled into the phone. It was almost funny how calm Lars was remaining after getting yelled at.**

"**You're going to hate me for saying it Enrique."**

"**Just tell me where it is Lars. Tell me-"**

"**Granderson." Lars interrupted. Silence followed. Enrique took a moment before he realized what his friend had said.**

"**You're shittin' me. Granderson?" Enrique asked, desperately wanting to hear Lars say 'April Fools', despite it being July. **

"**Sorry Enrique, I'm afraid it's true, but I have to go now, have to keep on the move. If I learn about anything else I'll give you a call...and Enrique, don't even think about trying to find a way in there, let the authorities deal with it." Before Enrique could say anything, he heard the dial tone. He slowly closed his phone. It couldn't be possible. It had to be some sick, twisted joke. He had hated that place, hated it with a passion, and he knew in his heart now, he had to go back. He had to, just for one reason.**

**Quickly, he unlocked his car and got in, not bothering with the seatbelt as he started it up. Pulling out of the driveway and speeding down the road. Lars had said the main roads were closed, but Enrique knew of another way in, from his time spent in Granderson when he wanted to find a way out. Only one thing was on his mind though, it wasn't about zombies, or monsters. It wasn't about heading back to the place he'd swore he'd never even think about again. It was a friend. His first friend. He pushed further down on the gas before skidding around a corner and heading towards a small grouping of warehouses in the distance.**

"**Greg…You better be alive…"**


End file.
